44/385, 25/30 Workaholic (a ghazal)

The way you twiddle thumbs as though you've got no tasks to shirk,
as though the tasks will vanish if avoided.  Yep, that'll work.

Idle hands think idle thoughts and waste productive days
by making plans to start those jobs tomorrow.  Yep, that'll work.

Foot high piles of paperwork are daunting to begin
but surely it gets easy if you shuffle them. Yep, that'll work.

A dozen one-inch stacks now form a carpet on your desk.
You shift them to the floor to clear some desk space. Yep, that'll work.

Alertness is a challenge.  Change of scenery should do it,
and a double cappuccino too, from Starbucks. Yep, that'll work.

What were they thinking when they bough that swivel chair for you?
You spin and spin. Their goal was clear: to drive me mad.  Yep, that'll work.

The papers on the floor are stepped on, blown, and leave their piles.
Now most are pinned beneath the seven rollers of your chair.  Yep, that'll work.

They twist and catch and somehow snag inside the plastic wheels.
You yank and tug to force the files to loosen.  Yep, that'll work.

You shred and wrinkle every one, expect them to be fixed
by ample strips of scotch tape and an iron. Yep, that'll work

The end of day procession to the parking lot progresses.
You pile them all one large heap again upon your desk.  Yep, that'll work.

(Rachel Mckibbens prompt #84)